


Tempus Fugit

by CodaAtTheEnd



Series: On The Origin of Egos [7]
Category: Unus Annus - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Death, Friendship, Music, Time - Freeform, Unus Annus, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27445966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CodaAtTheEnd/pseuds/CodaAtTheEnd
Summary: "Time always seems to move faster when it's running out." - Annus, This is Goodbye
Relationships: Ethan Nestor & Unus, Mark Fischbach & Annus, Mark Fischbach & Ethan Nestor, Unus & Annus
Series: On The Origin of Egos [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1442656
Comments: 13
Kudos: 99





	1. eram quod es

**Author's Note:**

> I will never be able to do Unus Annus justice, but better that this lives and fails than never lives at all. This will probably be proven wrong in the next few days, but I don't want to procrastinate again and ignore everything for months.  
> If you don't know what Unus Annus is, I'm so sorry. It's a self-destructing channel that's dying on November 15th. Go watch some of it. Be part of it before it dies, or you'll never get the chance.

It begins with an idle thought twisting about the corridors of imagination. Mark thinks of death, of life, of the relentless nature of time and envisions a channel with a time limit. He calls Ethan with a grin on his face and excitement in his bones and something in his heart crooning over the rightness of it all. Even before Ethan answers the phone, he knows his friend will agree with a strange certainty that he writes off as a simple understanding between friends. They know each other well, after all. He knows how Ethan will react to this brilliant idea that fell into his mind fully formed, as though it was meant to be. As though something wanted it to be.

When Ethan thinks back on the moment Mark called him about Unus Annus, he remembers anticipating the call, pulling his phone out of his pocket a few heartbeats before it actually rang. Of course, that is the knowledge of the present infecting the past, or so he believes. But in either case, he answers and accepts with a smile on his lips and anticipation in his blood and something in his heart finally falling into place. The bargain is struck, their fates are sealed, and nothing can stop the clock now that it has begun ticking. One year. Nothing more, nothing less. 

* * *

They are formed in the space between moments. In one moment, they are nothing, void, oblivion, an idle thought twisting about the corridors of envisioning. The next moment, they are made manifest, two entities given flesh and form and suits and the relentless ticking of the clock that is always ticking downwards. Before the clock, they are not and never were, despite the fact that the clock is, has always been, will always be. After the clock, they are, always were, but will not always be. They watch the sand fall through the hourglass and wait for their clients to notice the bargain they have struck. They do not wait long.

Unus has never known a moment without Annus. Annus has never known a moment without Unus. They are a thing inseparable, defined by the other. Unus Annus. They exist for the mortals that conjured them out of daydreams and nightmares. They are entities eternal, without beginning, without end, without creator, without creation. They are fragments of a larger whole, two pieces of the entities they take their names from. Their mortals call them forth and so they come, mind and body shifting to match the mortals they struck a bargin with. The mortals think the entities slipping into their skins are simple personas, masks to be donned and discarded at will, but their erroneous opinions matter not. Regardless of methods and means, they still have one year. Nothing more, nothing less. 

* * *

When the lockdown orders come, Mark only feels the slightest pang of disappointment, much to his surprise. He thought he would be furious, raging against the sudden death of all their hopes and dreams and ideas. They had so many plans for this year, so many things they wanted to do before they died. But part of his mind simply accepts it without contemplating the possibilities, and his emotions die whilst still in the bud. They only have one year. No point in wasting time lamenting the end of possibility. It's a vaguely foreign thought, subtly yet distinctly different from his usual flavor of thinking, but he doesn't notice.

When quarantine begins, Ethan doesn't feel alone, much to his surprise. He's an extrovert, after all, he needs social interaction to feel whole. But even though he interacts with his friends through the cold dividing layer of a screen, even though the only living thing he sees in person on a regular basis is Spencer, even though he feels isolated from everyone he knows, he doesn't feel alone. _It's Unus Annus,_ he thinks in hindsight. _The constant interaction with Mark kept me sane._ But even as he exists apart from everyone, his subconscious knows and acknowledges the presence of another, and he continues existing.

* * *

The mortals hate the disruption that the plague brings, but Unus and Annus accept it for what it is. A quirk of fate, a twist of destiny, a whim of the cosmic dice. They have one year. The circumstances of that year are inconsequential. One year, nothing more, nothing less. Their mortals adapt well enough. They chose them wisely. Few of the ones who ask for time have the willpower to take advantage of it. They slip into their mortals' skins like skindancers, mastering control of the flesh suits they share. Perhaps they do it too often, as Mark and Ethan are quickly becoming aware that Unus and Annus are entities unto themselves, not mere personas. Even so, they cannot resist melding with their hosts, learning everything about them. Every joy, every pain, every grief, every sorrow. 

They slip into their mortals for no reason now. Not to impart a message, just to live their lives, just to be them for a moment. It's addicting, being their mortals. They nearly break them a few times. Unus's absolute knowledge of Ethan's incapability to crush a watermelon mixes with Ethan's mortal frustration over that knowledge and forms a crazy man that tortures melons. Annus's implacability combines with Mark's inability to back down from a challenge and makes a deranged caveman. They fix it, of course, but these mortals have a propensity for crafting (or attracting, depending on one's philosophy) tulpas. Other personas cling to their minds, accelerating the creation process, but Unus and Annus put them away for the year. Many are simply shoved into corners trapped behind a timed mental block, but for a few, they are gentle. Annus gathers all the Jims with a rare smile on his face, and Unus holds Blank's hand as he drifts off of sleep. Unus looks at Annus, and Annus looks at Unus, and they both know they've grown far too attached.

* * *

Mark has always taken charge. It's just who he is as a person. A leader, never a follower. Awful at listening, worse at obeying. But over the course of Unus Annus, he's found himself slowing down more, listening to Ethan more, letting other people lead more. Working with someone else for so long does change a person, but it's more than that. He just _knows_ when Ethan wants to do something. He just _knows_ when Amy thinks he's being so stupid that he'd be dead in a week without her. He just _knows_ with a part of his mind that doesn't feel entirely his anymore. But he likes this change. He likes being able to work with people and _understand_ them. He likes the subtle certainty that rules his instincts. He likes knowing that he's becoming a better person.

Ethan has always followed Mark. He was a fan for years, following his content obsessively. Then he was a part of the Iplier Crew, following Mark to LA just to be in his presence. Then he followed Mark in making a YouTube channel. Then he followed Mark to Unus Annus. That's just who he is. A follower, someone who can listen to the people who will accept nothing less while still maintaining some sense of enjoyment through it all. But over the course of Unus Annus, he's found himself taking charge more, telling Mark to do things more, leading people more. Working with someone else for so long does change a person, but it's more than that. He just _knows_ when Mark is willing to be pulled along on some crazy shenanigans. He just _knows_ when Amy genuinely feels comfortable enough with their chosen video topic to make it crazier. He just _knows_ with a part of his mind that doesn't feel entirely his anymore. But he likes this change. He likes being confident enough to _talk_ to people. He likes the subtle certainty that lets him act without panic consuming him. He likes knowing that he's becoming a better person.

Mark and Ethan always had chemistry. Two idiots, one that thinks he knows what he's doing and one that knows he doesn't. Together they have always been amazing, but over the course of Unus Annus, they've found themselves gradually syncing up, their minds perfectly in tune, the pieces falling into place. It's like they can read each other's minds. Like something _in_ their minds is deeply and irrevocably connected. Even outside videos, they are connected. Mark calls Ethan randomly just in time to avert a panic attack. Ethan shows up at Mark's house while Mark is falling apart of the prospect of Chica's death. Somehow, they are inextricably linked.

* * *

Their mortals are strange things,. They declared the death of the channel at its beginning, they have the clock at the beginning and end of every video, but they still think they have forever. So very strange. Unus and Annus know them better than anyone else possibly can, seeping into the very essence of their being, but they cannot understand this deliberate disbelief. The mortals still manage to live their life to the fullest, but they seem unable to accept the end they placed upon themselves. Mark and Ethan are bizarre, fascinating individuals, so completely, utterly _mortal_. Unus likes Ethan, likes his energy, his laughter, his humility. Annus likes Mark, likes his rage, his confidence, his dedication. They suit each other well. Unus and Annus will miss them, when it's over.

They gave these mortals a year, as they give to all who ask. And when the year ends, when Unus Annus dies, a fragment of Unus and Annus will die with it. These personas, these forms that borrow attributes from their hosts, they will die. The mortals will live on, Unus and Annus will continue, but this meeting of minds, this one year, this moment in time will die. The lesson stays forever, but the teacher fades, leaving nothing behind but the memories. The year ends, but life goes on. This is how it always is. This is how it always must be. 

They have lived so many years over so many lives, each year flowing into the next life in an endless spiral, in an infinite fractal, but these guises with these mortals are something special. Not mere personas taking over willing bodies, but a melding of sorts. They like dogs in this life. Annus smiles when Amy is nearby. Unus gets distracted easily. Annus never concedes a challenge. Unus tolerates everything Mark and Annus ever do. They bond with their mortals, meshing so fluidly that it is difficult to discern Ethan from Unus, Mark from Annus. It's different this time, this year, this life. For better or for worse, things have changed.

* * *

Mark and Ethan burn through their time so quickly. Each day is a day that they can never get back. Time carries them forwards, and the end approaches at a steady pace. It looms ahead of them, but at the same time, it is a familiar sight on the horizon. They grow accustomed to their death lurking, but they still haven't accepted it. _Of course we have time_ , they think as the clock ticks down. Despite the clock, despite the bargain, despite Unus Annus's inevitable demise waiting ahead, they still instinctually deny it, willfully ignore it, welcome the cognitive dissonance. A year is so long. 365 days. 8,760 hours. 525,600 minutes. 31,536,000 seconds. They've got all year, all the time in the world. The ticking continues, counting off the seconds, and they still cling to their disbelief. 

One year. So much time. All the time in the world. Mark and Ethan laugh at each other and with each other, a clock ticking in the back of their heads that they both ignore. Of course they have time. Of course this is forever. Of course this is how things will be. Ethan will always go over to Mark's house once a week to film, Mark will always mock Ethan for his risk awareness, Amy will always be a mothering hen that keeps them safe from their own idiocy. They hear the clock ticking, see the sand falling through the hourglass, yet still pretend death is not waiting for them. They live and laugh and love and let the sands of time slip through their fingers while believing there's no such thing as endings. They record videos like normal, but there's no rush, no terror, no passion. The truth shrouds them, surrounds them, but they ignore it. They have all year, after all. That's all the time in the world. 

* * *

Unus and Annus like their mortals, but they keep running from the truth. They declared the death of the channel at its origin, they have the clock at the beginning and end of every video, but they still think they have forever. Unus and Annus do not understand, cannot understand this blatant denial. The mortals have always known that the end is nigh, that death awaits them at the end of their year, and yet they cling to a complete lack of concern. This complacency does not match the urgency that clung to the year's beginning. Fourteen days remain, but they still think they have forever. Something must be done.

They strike after Ethan's retaliatory "kidnapping". As they celebrate a successful video, Unus and Annus access their handheld transceivers, speaking to their mortals outside of the mind for the first and final time. They give the same speech, and their mortals respond in the exact same way. Perhaps they have melded too deeply with their mortals, connecting them as Unus and Annus are connected, but there is no time to lament the things one cannot change. As the truth becomes undeniable, their mortals crumple, forced to face the fate they have purposefully forgotten. They beg, they rage, they mourn, but at long last, they stand before the coffin.

* * *

Mark and Ethan stare at each other and they know that this is goodbye. Not _the_ ending, but _an_ ending. After this, something new and strange will form, forever changing everything. They nod to each other, a silent farewell, and finally open the coffin. The memories spill out of the box, pouring through their minds in a rush of joy and pain and laughter and nostalgia. As the memories tumble out, the empty space within the coffin begins pulling at them like the vacuum of space, only without stars for them to admire as they die. They resist for a moment, but eventually the pull becomes too powerful. With a pang of anguish that fades into bitter acceptance, they let themselves fall into the abyss. 

Unus and Annus close the coffin with a loud bang that reverberates through the room and straighten their suits. They are not often forced to take over their hosts, but given enough leniency, Mark and Ethan would have let go of their mission statement. They would have forgotten everything they've worked so hard to learn, let the channel live instead of die with the year. But something is different this time. Instead of falling into deep slumber within the confines of the coffin, ready to awaken when the year ends, their mortals begin to diffuse and scatter, seeping into the mind and the bond and the entities. 

They walk around the coffin, caressing it with one hand as they move. Somehow, ~~_they_~~ their mortals are in the coffin too, but far more awake than past mortals have been and somehow lesser, somehow faded, like an old photograph left out in the sun. They reach the front of the coffin at long last, and ~~_Ethan_~~ Unus speaks in a somber tone. 

"It's time to say goodbye."

"Memento mori."

"Unus Annus."

* * *

As the days continue, Unus and Annus find a strange sort of balance with Mark and Ethan. They still wear the suits, since Unus and Annus can't take them off, but Mark and Ethan still linger at the surface, reacting to the world alongside Unus and Annus. Senses are slightly distorted, particularly taste and smell, but except for the outfits, an outsider would never know that they merged. They still respond to ~~_their_~~ the mortals' names, they still record videos that aren't for Unus Annus, they still live their lives as normal, but they've changed.

Amy knows that something is different, of course. She knows Mark too well to be convinced of anything else, but there's enough of Mark left to assuage her doubts. She assumes that the impending demise of the channel is weighing on his mind, and that is true, in a way. Annus will miss this, when it's over, Mark, Mark's life, being this mortal for this year, the only year that they'll ever have. "I love you," ~~_Mark_~~ Annus says to Amy with Mark's mouth, and means it. 

Spencer doesn't come when ~~_Ethan_~~ Unus calls. It takes another moment of pleading before the dog drags himself over to receive ~~_Ethan's_~~ Unus's pats on the head. Even though the amalgamation behaves just like Ethan did, dogs and other animals can always when the humans have been supplanted. Spencer doesn't trust ~~_Ethan_~~ Unus as much, but the dog comes to terms with it. Ethan's not _gone_ , after all. He's just... less now. Less there, less real, less Ethan, more Unus. It hurts a little, watching ~~_his_~~ Ethan's dog turn away from him.

* * *

They are not the people they were. They are not the entities they were. The fractal spirals, but these minute shards of the dance of life and death cling to the fragments of their chosen mortals, holding them tight as the end comes ever closer. They burn through their last days, losing so much time to simply living. Soon, they will die. Mark and Ethan will live on, preserved as they are in their coffin, but these fragments that linger within the mind, they will be burned away, carved out along with Unus and Annus to make room for the original minds. After the year ends, the mortals will not remember this, will not remember being forced out of their minds to meld with the entities that stole their lives. They will only remember putting on masks, slipping on suits, and letting the scene carry the story. The mortals will not mourn. They will have nothing to mourn. 

The viewers will mourn the death of the channel, but they do not understand what this death means to the entities that face the end. They could never understand it in its entirety, even the clever ones, even the Lore Hunters, who search each and every frame of each and every video for secrets. Some things cannot be put into words. No one could possibly know what it's like to become one with an eternally dying spiraling fractal. No one could possibly know what it's like to _be_ an eternally dying spiraling fractal. This piece shall die, but the whole lives on, keeping the memories, keeping the lessons, but losing the person that learned them. Nothing is gained without sacrifice. There is no sacrifice if there is nothing to lose.

They will die. They were always going to die. This is how it ends. This is how it was always going to end. ~~_Ethan_~~ Unus holds ~~_Mark_~~ Annus close as they watch the clock tick down. _0:12:00:00. 0:11:59:59._ They spend their last twelve hours in a livestream, imparting some last few words of wisdom to their loyal viewers. Memento mori. Remember death. Remember you will die. Remember it is inevitable, always lurking at the end. Know it is waiting and prepare for it. Memento vivere. Remember life. Remember you must live. Remember it is short, always running out faster than you'd expect. Know it must happen and live it to the fullest. Unus Annus. One year. Some have more, some have less, they had one. The mortals have a lifetime, for better or for worse. 

_0:00:00:30. 0:00:00:29. 0:00:00:28._

"Unus," ~~_Mark_~~ Annus says softly, "I don't want to die. I know this was always our fate, but I don't _want_ it."

"Neither do I, Annus," ~~_Ethan_~~ Unus replies, sorrow prickling at the edges of his vision. "But we don't choose when we die. We only choose how we live."

_0:00:00:17. 0:00:00:16. 0:00:00:15._

"I'll miss them," ~~_Mark_~~ Annus whispers, anguish seeping into his bones. "I'll miss _this_."

"So will I," _~~Ethan~~_ Unus says, a soft smile gracing his lips. "But they'll do fine without us."

_0:00:00:08. 0:00:00:07. 0:00:00:06._

"Memento mori," they chant in perfect unison as the clock inches ever closer to their inevitable demise.

"Unus Annus."

_0:00:00:02. 0:00:00:01. 0:00:00:00._


	2. eris quod sum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Through a sheer twist of fate, I could not find a sad piano version of the Digging a Grave song, so I've linked Ethan's original version (which is slower and sadder), and you'll have to pretend that it is piano.

The moment after hitting the "Delete" button is a strange one. Mark blinks as he leans back in his chair, the suit feeling oddly heavy on his body, like a weight upon his shoulders that he was not meant to carry. He's been wearing this suit for two weeks, growing accustomed to his limits within its confines, but now that Unus Annus is gone, he feels almost... inadequate. As though this suit was not meant for him. He is a soul meant to be adorned with t-shirts and jeans, not formal wear. Though the white fabric has covered his flesh many times over the past year, it feels almost unnatural now in a way that it never did before. Something is missing. He stands, and his bones feel too light, as though they've been hollowed out by the death he brought upon the channel. The grief that wells up in his mind is somehow less than he expected. He mourns the death of all the videos they've made, of all the effort they've put into this, of the year they've spent together, but it feels like... like he's lost something, but he doesn't know _what_.

As Ethan stares at the confirmation message on the screen, he feels almost... _empty._ There's a curious sort of disconnect between his mind and his body, and he can't quite focus. After a moment, he realizes that Amy's been calling his name for a while. It's almost like his brain doesn't recognize the sound of his name anymore. _Ethan._ Two syllables, somewhat rhymes with beacon, which could be bacon if you squint. So really, his name is just a disguise for a wholesome American breakfast, just like grandma used to make. _Ethan_. Secant, like that math thing he never bothered to remember. A line connecting two points, a bridge between worlds, an anchor for... something. His mind flits about like a hummingbird, but he can't find the answers. He's _missing_ something, some crucial piece of information that ties his entire train of thought together. His anchor is missing, his confidence is fragmenting, the certainty that took hold of him during Unus Annus is gone. Without it, he is adrift on the tumultuous sea. 

Unus Annus is gone. Its absence hurts like a knife, but with time, the wounds will fade. The suits feel wrong somehow, like a layer of skin thrust unceremoniously upon them, but after they get home, they will never wear these suits again. The outfits will simply hang in the closet, a lingering reminder of a time that can never be forgotten or retrieved. The last remnants of sand have passed through the hourglass, and it is time to move on. They will put away the suits, clean up the box of Unus Annus supplies, hide/destroy the sauna, and clean up the loose odds and ends that have accumulated over the course of the year. This era has come to a close, despite all the weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth. _In inceptum finis est_. In the beginning is the end. From the very first moment, they knew when and how they would die. 365 days, by their own hand. They chose this. They _chose_ this. They chose this, but it still hurts. 

* * *

They hold the funeral on November 14th, scant hours after Unus Annus dies. After all, the two are already in the coffin, just waiting to be buried. There are no arrangements to be made, no alterations to occur. The corpses are already laid out beautifully, with black and white flowers surrounding them. The location was determined long ago, along with the gravestones. The only thing left to do is to hold the funeral. That part is more difficult than it sounds, since Mark and Ethan both have a great many tulpas to track down before the day ends, and other Egos wish to attend despite not knowing Unus and Annus very well in life. Still, they manage to gather everyone in one place without any deaths or grievous injuries, which is impressive considering the vast quantities of murderers in attendance. 

The pallbearers walk solemnly down the path that was created for this purpose by the powers that shape this reality. One Jim holds the coffin while bent over like the girl from _The Exorcist_ , and the other one follows him with a camera. For once, both of them are quiet, without any words spoken at all. Blank moves silently, black tears streaking down his face. He seems to move in the space between moments, despite the casket's smooth movement, always changing location while observers blink. Yancy grips the casket handle like it's the last refuge in the middle of the ocean. He did not have the chance to interact with them very much, since he was in prison until recently, but their death is a horrific reminder that things change. Jameson Jackson holds the coffin with more hands than just his two, small gloves supporting it from below as a bit of insurance. This morning, he put the kettle on for their Saturday tea time before remembering that they were never going to have another tea time. Mare supports the coffin with shadowy limbs that number somewhere between two and twenty. It was not the first choice for pallbearer, but very few people felt comfortable enough or close enough to the deceased to step forwards. Silver Shephard walks awkwardly, a sort of vacant expression on his face. He didn't know the two deceased very well, but the pallbearers needed a sixth, and he has never been one to leave a person in need.

The weather is excellent. They _make_ the weather excellent. Dark sits at a black and white piano, draped in a black and white suit, playing [Unus Annus's song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZWewLLw60U8). The attendees gather in a loose circle that somewhat resembles a spiral from above. The coffin is open, exposing Unus and Annus to the air. They look peaceful, lying there with empty eyes and vacant expressions. For a moment, all is silence and stillness, and no one dares to even breathe for fear of disturbing the thick weight of tranquility that has descended over the area. Tears water the broken earth, and silence reigns supreme. Then Dark lets the music fade until it is the faintest whisper on the wind, shattering the peace faster than shouting ever could.

"It's time to say goodbye," he murmurs, and the attendants shuffle forwards to offer their messages to those who can no longer hear them.

* * *

After Unus Annus's death, Mark feels adrift. He keeps turning to his right, trying to speak to a person no longer chained to his side. Ethan's name passes through his lips before he remembers that Ethan is not even there. Thursdays comes, and Mark writes a text to Ethan about him being late before he remembers that there's nothing to be late for. The coffin sits alone in a room, left there by circumstance and the simple inertia of inaction. _"You keep it,"_ Ethan said, as they plotted the death of a year's hard labor. _"I don't have anywhere to put it."_ Well, Mark evidently doesn't have a place to put it either, since it just takes up space, a silent and solemn reminder of everything they erased. _We were here,_ it seems to say. _We were here, and you killed us._ There is no judgement in those words, just a statement of the facts. Unus Annus was here, and now it is gone because of them. They made it, they killed it. The coffin remains. 

Ethan finds himself losing time much more than usual after Unus Annus dies. He'll blink and suddenly, the shadows have crept up on him and the clock glares at him brightly, showing numbers he doesn't want to believe. It's because he doesn't have a constant deadline anymore, or so he thinks. He may be right, he may be wrong, but in any case, he finds himself staring at the suit whenever he opens his closet. He's forced to move it because of the hours he wastes just _staring_ at it with a strange combination of grief and longing bundling together inside him. It doesn't fix everything, of course. Sometimes, he finds himself watching a blank television screen, lost in the inky blackness that exists in the space before light. Other times, he snaps back to reality holding a white plate. He's constantly unfocused, barely keeping his mind on his streams through sheer force of will, and in the back of his mind, next to a broken hourglass and a stopped clock, the spiral keeps spinning.

Unus Annus is gone, but they're having trouble accepting it. The only consolation is that they got to say goodbye. Not everyone gets to say goodbye.

* * *

Almost every attendee has something to say, some story to tell, some memory to share. Dark shifts the song from the traditional tune to one of [desert wastes and rage](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6pTI6q2L_Y). Everyone stands before the coffin, though many do not speak and others simply remark on how much they regret not knowing them better. They all leave something behind, some little memento in honor of them. Unus and Annus are gone, but so long as they are remembered, they shall remain. Everyone will remember their stories, their impacts on this world, and so they shall remain for as long as the stories are told. 

The Jims come forwards as one unit and speak in unison. "Time Jim and Death Jim were always great Jims. Very, very Jim. They enhanced the Jim family honor. All Jims everywhere are very proud." They set a camera down and stand there in eerie silence. Then sound rushes back as they scurry away, the camera falling as reality realises that there was never anyone to hold it. It shatters on the ground, but at next glance, it is gone as though it had never been. 

"They taught me how to stop staring at the clock," Blank mumbles quietly, almost buried beneath the static that speaks his name. _blankvoidemptyforgottenworthlessnothinguseless..._ "They let me live without fearing the end." He places a black and white spiraling rose into the coffin and fades away, as though he was never there in the first place. However, a keen eye could spot him by Mad Mike's ice cream truck, eating a vanilla-chocolate swirl (or, as it is labelled today, "Unus Annus Spiral"). The black voids that rest in his eyesockets water slightly, dripping black tears on his ice cream, but he doesn't notice. He barely even tastes the cold treat in his mouth. They are gone, and they are never coming back.

_They always listened to me,_ Jameson signs stiffly, holding his hands close to his chest as though he has been burned. _No matter how loud the world was, I knew they would never ignore me._ Jackie bits his lip as Jameson leaves his message, guilt nipping at his heels, but he cannot change the past. Jameson stares at the two corpses lying in the coffin and tugs at the strings of the world, altering it to his satisfaction. When he departs, Unus and Annus are wearing gloves, and two cups of tea sit within arm's reach. _Farewell, my friends._

Yan walks up to the coffin slowly, as though they don't feel worthy of being there. "Unus-san and Annus-san always gave me advice on winning Senpai. They gave me my favorite knife. They gave me a shovel for hiding bodies." They rub their eyes and sniffle a bit before continuing. "They were always there, always available for any reason, and now they're gone." They pull out their best and brightest katana and lay it down, nestled between Unus and Annus. As they walk away, the tears come in earnest, and they hurl a blade at a tree and weep with all the grief of a child that knows their parents are never coming back. 

"I used to think that everything had to have meaning," Mad says, his hands clutching a notepad and pencil. "I used to think that there was a _purpose_ to it all. But no, of course not. There is no meaning of life. Life _is_ the meaning." A pool of ink runs across the ground, coalescing into two spiral pins that slide into the suits' lapels. Mad stares at the two for a long moment, thinking of all that they did and all that they could have done. All the things they could have been, if the world had been different. "Life is not kind, life is not fair, life is not forever. We are all going to die." He walks away, and a trail of dark ink follows after. As the pins integrate with the corpses, Mad breathes, letting the knowledge inherent in the flesh and blood and bone sink into his mind via his inky nanomachines. They are gone, but they will be remembered.

Phantom stands before the coffin silently, stroking the crystal skull that adorns its staff. It has swapped out the crystal just for this occasion. Despite Unus and Annus lacking pupils, they still seem to be staring at it with anticipation in their eyes. With a quiet sigh, Phantom pulls out a paper covered in ink and oaths and signatures and neatly rips it down the middle, tearing the pretty turns of phrase and scatterings of legal-ese. "One year," it says softly in a subdued voice that does not fit its aura of flamboyance. "That was the deal." It drops the two halves of the contract, letting them flutter into the coffin. As they fall, one fragment seems to invert, morphing from a white sheet with black ink to a black sheet with white ink. The two parts somehow land perfectly aligned, seeming as one paper with two shades instead of two pieces of a whole. " _Sic transit gloria mundi._ " The spiral turns, and Phantom knows with the certainty that comes through experience that though it will see some form of Unus and Annus again, these manifestations of the spiral are gone forever. It does not mourn, because it is not a creature of mourning, but it feels their absence, and the contract's absence, and knows that this was a bond that can never be replaced.

As the final guests finish speaking, Dark gazes at the coffin and its inhabitants, still playing an achingly familiar tune. " _Requiescat in pace_ ," he whispers. _Rest in peace._

* * *

Ethan really misses Mark. It's stupid, since Mark is _right there_ , available at any time for a conversation or gaming session or just to see each other's faces, but it's just not the same. There's a barrier between them that was never present during the days of Unus Annus. Before, one of them could slip into a bit and the other would follow along, perfectly in tune. They just _knew_ what the other was thinking in a strange yet perfect way. Now, they are two beings apart, connected only through the memory of what once was. But they buried that time with the channel, and that easy, simple connection has withered and faded away. No point in bringing back the dead. He finds it harder to actually reach out to Mark now, since he can't tell if Mark is available or not. So instead, he simply lets the days pass, and the ache in his chest never truly fades, but he gets better at ignoring it. He's not alone. He has Spencer, Kathryn, and his Cranky Crew. That's enough. That has to be enough.

Mark feels a bit less centered, a bit less together for a while. There were a few days after Unus Annus where he kept looking for his tactical shovel, even though he lost that thing months ago. Then he listened to some music from the bygone era on loop for ages, losing so much time just _thinking_ himself to death. And he still can't stop looking for Ethan, even though he knows, logically, where Ethan is. But something in him, some ingrained habit gained over the course of the year, expects Ethan to be at his side, ready for the next bit. Where else would he be? Where else could he be? But Ethan has his own life now, his own purpose and channel and goals. He obviously doesn't need Mark, so Mark won't impose. He'll let Ethan reach out. Gone are the days when they could just converse at any time for any reasons. That era is gone and buried, along with the tactical shovel he _still_ can't find. Where is it? Where could it possibly be?

* * *

They dig the grave one heap at a time. The music shifts to a [sorrowful version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M_W5d_hLGgM) of the song they sang whilst digging graves at camp. There is only the one shovel, so the guests file up and each take a turn wielding the tactical shovel that was borrowed indefinitely from Mark. Through the power of reality manipulation, the grave is finished with the last person's turn with the shovel. They lower the coffin gently, supported with magic and nanomachines to ensure a steady plummet. At long last, the box hits the bottom, and the attendees begin to cover the grave in soil. It does not take long for the last traces of the funeral to be wiped away by the earth. 

The gravestone is made of marble. Despite what was imagined in the times long ago, there are no statues or sculptures, no neon signs. Just the stone, and the words carved upon it.

_Unus Annus_

_November 15th, 2019_

_November 14th, 2020_

_Memento Mori_

Despite its austerity, or perhaps because of it, the gravestone is magnificent. At long last, it's over. And just like that, as though the world itself could not bear the grief, it begins to rain. Dark changes the song to one [more appropriate](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eevpfk61Q5g) for the moment. All is somber, all is silent, all is still.

Then Wilford Warfstache shakes his head and pulls out his gun, shooting the air a few times. "Alright, that's enough of the complaining." He sets a record on the record player that wasn't there a moment before and [sets it spinning](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DytJTOfMMsg). "Time to party!" he shouts, dancing to the jazzy tune. Reluctantly, though incentivised by the gun Wilford keeps waving about, the rest of the guests follow suit, shuffling about awkwardly until they finally find the sway of the music. As the solemn funeral devolves into a festive celebration, Dark shakes his head, but beneath the shadows and static, he is grinning. At the edges of his composite mind, he can almost picture Unus and Annus dancing along to the tune.

**Author's Note:**

> I know most people are deleting their Unus Annus fics, but I don't think I'll delete this. After all, everything deserves a legacy.


End file.
